


Kill the Clown First, Make Out Later

by gallopingmelancholia



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, No Conflict, POV Alternating, This scary movie was good but it could also make a great romcom, [Aaron Burr voice] OK so we're doing this, no beta we die like men, no plot lbr, this was supposed to be a one-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallopingmelancholia/pseuds/gallopingmelancholia
Summary: “Are we good?” Richie asks, panting, looking around. “Are they--?”“They’re distracting It,” Eddie says. “Are you OK? Are you concussed or--?”“Goose-egg, probably,” Richie says, feeling the back of his head with his free hand, his knuckles scratching against the wall, his front pressed against Eddie, so small is their refuge.“That’s not so bad, good, thank god,” Eddie says. “Bleeding?”“Who the fuck knows, I’ve got so much shit in my hair right now,” Richie says. “Why did you kiss me?”“Ben did it the first time when Bev was, and I thought maybe again, this time, it might--,” Eddie rushes out, surprised that he can still feel embarrassed when his adrenaline and fear are up so high. “I’m sorry, I--”“So can I--?” Richie says, and doesn’t wait for an answer.**Eddie kisses Richie to revive him. A little while later they talk about breakfast.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 272





	1. First

Relief unlike any Eddie has ever known sweeps through his body when Richie opens his eyes. 

“Hey, there he is!” he says, while Richie blinks in confusion, his eyes clearing from the fog of the deadlights, trying to focus on Eddie’s face in the darkness. “Richie, I think I killed It, man!” 

Richie’s touching his own lips. “Dude, did you just kiss me?”

And now it’s awkward. How’s he going to explain his reasoning on this? He’d been driven by instinct and a half-remembered image from 27 years ago. “Uh, yeah--”

“And I fucking missed it?”

“What?”

There’s a blur of motion over their heads as one of Pennywise’s talons rushes down on them but gets knocked off course by a projectile launched by one of the others. Pennywise shrieks in outrage and looks towards the interfering Loser--Ben, who’s hoisting up another small boulder and shouting, “Yeah, you like that? It’s a rock war now, motherfucker!” Eddie takes the opportunity to get up and drag Richie on the ground after him, since Richie doesn’t seem to be able to control his limbs very well right now.

“I got it, Eds, I got it,” he says, pulling on Eddie’s hand for leverage as he gets to his knees and then to his feet. Pennywise swipes at them again as Bev yells, “Get out of the way, Richie!” and pelts the clown spider in the eye, causing him to miss again. Richie and Eddie are still holding hands, Eddie pulling Richie behind him, when they duck behind one of the columns of rock, temporarily shielded from the maelstrom, ensconced in a tiny slit of an opening, too small for Pennywise to get into. 

“Are we good?” Richie asks, panting, looking around. “Are they--?”

“They’re distracting It,” Eddie says. “Are you OK? Are you concussed or--?”

“Goose-egg, probably,” Richie says, feeling the back of his head with his free hand, his knuckles scratching against the wall, his front pressed against Eddie, so small is their refuge. 

“That’s not so bad, good, thank god,” Eddie says. “Bleeding?”

“Who the fuck knows, I’ve got so much shit in my hair right now,” Richie says. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Ben did it the first time when Bev was, and I thought maybe again, this time, it might--,” Eddie rushes out, surprised that he can still feel embarrassed when his adrenaline and fear are up so high. “I’m sorry, I--”

“So can I--?” Richie says, and doesn’t wait for an answer. He bends down and presses his lips to Eddie’s with a frantic energy, grasping at the back of Eddie’s head to bring him closer. Eddie goes on tiptoe and clutches Richie’s jacket, meeting Richie’s mouth with his own desperately, as he’s wanted to do for decades. The crush of their lips together jolts Eddie from his heart straight down through his toes, spreading through his limbs like fire. He kisses back so strongly he feels the cut in his cheek sting from the motion, tasting copper as the wound starts to bleed again. This isn’t how Eddie imagined his first real kiss with Richie would go, trapped in a cave with a monster, smelling of sewage, sounds of battle ringing out around them, and he’d imagined it a hell of a lot, but it feels right, if only because everything about being in Derry is fucked up and unpredictable. Richie only pulls away when he hears a scream from Pennywise and more falling rock, dangerously close to where they stand. He rests his forehead against Eddie’s, panting. 

“I’m--” he starts, but doesn’t finish the thought. “Eddie, I--I never thought you’d--”

“You’re a dumbass, then,” Eddie says, going up for another quick peck. “Of course I wanted--”

A loud impact against their wall, something heavy crashing and falling to the ground with a splash, interrupts them. 

“OK, we’ve gotta kill the clown first,” Eddie says. “We can make out later.”

“I’m--” Richie still can’t form complete sentences. He looks completely overwhelmed. Eddie instinctively and calmly gets down to business because that’s what Richie needs from him now. 

“Come on, the others need us.” 

“I love you,” Richie blurts out, scared eyes searching Eddie’s face for a reaction.

“I can tell,” Eddie says, grinning, “it’s really obvious. Let’s go.” 

“Fuck, I’m not ready,” Richie says, but he’s decided to do it and is bracing himself. “Get to the others?” 

“Yeah. Now!” Eddie shouts, dashing from their haven and into the fray. Richie’s close behind him, practically stepping on his heels, splattering water up into his socks. They make it over to Mike and Bill first. Bev and Ben are behind a boulder, dodging Pennywise’s tentacles as they smash down around them. 

“I don’t know if rocks are gonna be able to finish it,” Mike is saying. “We need something stronger.” 

“I-if It wa-weren’t so fu-fucking huge,” Bill says. 

_Holy shit. Holy SHIT._

“Guys, I know how to do it,” Eddie says. “Bev, Ben, I know how to kill It!” 

Pennywise laughs and imitates Eddie in a high-pitched voice as Ben and Bev dart over to their sides. 

_If you believe it does._

“YOU CAN’T KILL ME. I’M THE EATER OF WORLDS,” It says, and Eddie has to shout so the others can hear him.

“When I was in the pharmacy, with the leper, I was choking him, and he kept getting smaller and weaker. If he hadn’t barfed all over me I’d have won, I think.” 

“If we make him human, he’s vulnerable,” Mike says, understanding. “We make him smaller, we crush him.” 

“How? Do we lead him through the tunnel, force him to shrink?” Bev asks. 

“There’s more than one way to make someone small,” Mike says. 

That’s how they end up bullying a demon clown from outer space, the personification of Evil, to death, until he’s nothing more than ashes. The cavern starts collapsing, and they barely make it to the surface before the house crumples around them, burying the remains of Pennywise and all of his victims for good. The force of an earthquake ripples out through Derry, tearing up streets, breaking water and electrical lines, though they won’t discover this until they’re walking through town on the way to the quarry to wash off. Right now they’re panting and holding onto each other in disbelief as the dust settles. 

“We won,” Bill says. “We fucking won.” Ben laughs loudly, exhilarated. 

“Is everyone OK?” Mike asks. 

“I’m not sure,” Richie says. “I have no idea what OK feels like anymore, dude.” 

Eddie huffs in agreement. “I have literally never been OK in my life.” 

“Maybe we can finally start now,” Bev says. 

“Everyone’s in one piece?” Mike clarifies. 

“Richie’s got a bump on his head and I still got stabbed in the face, but otherwise we’re good,” Eddie says, and the others confirm that they’ve only got minor injuries, if any. 

Then Bill asks, “What now?”

“I need to get this blood off,” Bev says. “I feel disgusting.” 

“Is that yours?” Richie asks. 

“No, I almost drowned in it, in a bathroom stall,” Bev says. 

_Gross._

“It doesn’t matter. I know where we should go next,” Bev continues. She leads them through town to the quarry. Even though their cell phones and wallets are already soaked through with all manner of no doubt toxic liquids, they leave them up with their shoes and jump into the water, Bev leading, as she did so many years ago. 

On the way down, Eddie feels the most freedom he’s ever had. Pure, unadulterated happiness. He can do anything. He’s just accomplished the impossible, there’s not a thing that can stop him now. Not Myra, not his anxieties, not Bowers, not even this fucking place. There’s nothing left to be afraid of. 

The others are whooping when they reach the surface of the water to draw breath. Mike floats on his back, grinning as if he’s just remembered how to smile. They swim to the shallows so they can stand while they rinse off. This dirty water shouldn’t feel so good, but it’s more refreshing than ice cold lemonade on a hot day. 

Eddie peels off his bandage and stuffs it into his sweatshirt pocket, absurdly feeling like he shouldn’t litter. He’s got disinfectant at the hotel, he hopes he’ll get there before an infection sets in, but that’s only a passing thought in the back of his mind.

“That was crazy, right?” Ben says. “We killed a monster with the power of friendship.” 

“Self-actualization by insulting a clown to its face,” Mike says. “Never expected that to work. I thought that belief that we could do it would be enough, but not like that,” he admits. 

“Oh, is that what all the tokens were about?” Bev asks. “Something to hitch our belief on?” 

“Pretty much,” Mike says. 

“Well, it was a good thought,” Ben says.

“A for effort,” Bill says. 

“Eddie’s idea was better,” Mike says. 

“My little genius,” Richie says, smooshing Eddie’s cheeks, avoiding the stab wound this time. “Emphasis on little.” Eddie blushes and pushes Richie away, laughing. 

“Fuck off, I hate you,” Eddie says, though the expression on Richie’s face is telling him that Richie knows he means the opposite. The memory of their kiss rushes back to him, and Eddie can tell that Richie’s thinking about it too. The breadth of possibility that’s now before them opens itself to Eddie, and he smiles widely. They can do anything. They can be together. It’s safe now. For the first time, he’s safe. 

Richie maintains eye contact and opens his mouth, and Eddie’s afraid he’s going to say something obnoxious about the kiss, trumpeting their business to the others. But all he says is, “We should get breakfast, I’m starving.” 

“I could eat,” Bill says. 

“Let’s roll up to continental breakfast like this,” Bev says, leaning back, dunking her head and running her fingers through her hair. Ben joins in, rubbing the blood out of it, massaging her scalp, and she looks up to him, and Eddie realizes there’s something new between them, something they’re acknowledging now, just as he and Richie are. He feels peaceful. 

The others laugh at the image of them, bedraggled, dripping wet, covered in cuts and bruises and still smelling of sewage, picking out soggy pancakes and bruised strawberries from the buffet line at the Town House. 

“I should get back to the library,” Mike says. “To deal with Bowers.”

“Terrible idea,” Richie says. “Just leave him. Let someone else find him.” 

“I’m with Richie,” Eddie says. “Bowers can rot there, fuck that guy.” 

“The town’s destroyed, no one’s gonna notice if the library is closed for one day,” Bill says. His stutter is already fading away. 

“That’s a good point,” Mike says. “Let’s go, then. Shower and then we can hit the diner.” 

“Oh my god, a shower,” Eddie says, tilting his face up to the sun. “That sounds fucking awesome. Shampoo. Soap. I can brush my teeth.” _Bliss. Pure bliss_. 

“If the water at the hotel still works, that is,” Ben says. 

“Shut your mouth, Ben, let me have this,” Eddie says, not opening his eyes, imagining running a loofah over his tired body in a steamy, safe, enclosed space. The first one he’ll take by himself, but he’s hoping Richie will join him for one in the future. 

“Eddie, babe, we’re leaving, come on,” Richie says, and Eddie opens his eyes. _Babe._ It just rolled off Richie’s tongue, the most natural thing in the world. The others are walking away, but Richie’s waiting, hand extended. 

Eddie takes it, and they follow the others, gloriously alive. Eddie’s in no rush, though, and they fall behind.

“I didn’t say it back,” Eddie says quietly. “But I do too. Love you. It’s always been you, Rich.” Just as he wasn’t expecting his first kiss with Richie to be life-or-death, he never expected this to be so easy to say. 

“You know what was going through my mind when we were killing that piece of shit clown?” Richie asks. 

“What?”

“All the times I wanted to kiss you but didn’t because he scared me out of it. What a waste that was. We could’ve had 25 years together.”

“Dude, really?”

“Yeah, man. On top of everything else, that fucking clown was super homophobic.” 

Eddie snorts. “Well that’s just unacceptable. I expected better from a monster that eats children.” 

“Even in the deadlights, he made me think you’d laugh at me, or be disgusted.” Eddie hates hearing that. He never should’ve let Richie doubt it. “So I never said anything. And I should’ve. Because even if you hadn’t felt the same, at least you would’ve known.”

“I wouldn’t have laughed. But it’s not like I could’ve done anything if you had told me. I would’ve been too scared. My mom would’ve kicked me out.” 

“My parents would’ve too,” Richie admits. “Good thing I’ve got my own house now. Suck it, Mom and Dad.” 

“Do you think I’d like California?” Eddie asks, squeezing his hand.

“There’s a whole continent between here and there, it doesn’t get better than that. You’ll love it.” 

“Guys, keep up,” Mike yells behind him. Ben’s got his arm around Beverly’s shoulders, and her hand is in his back pocket. 

“I think I want waffles,” Eddie says, speeding up, pulling Richie with him. 

“I’m gonna get whatever’s got the word ‘lumberjack’ in the name,” Richie says.

“I just want a lot of carbs,” Ben says. “And potatoes. And sausage gravy.” 

“The most satisfying breakfast I’ve ever had was cold pizza and a beer after getting blackout drunk the night before,” Bill says. “I saw heaven that day.” 

“A breakfast burrito with extra avocado, a parfait, and a double espresso, that’s my go-to,” Bev says. 

“Crepes. Or a croissant,” Mike says. “Both. And cheesy scrambled eggs.” 

“I’ll bet the bagels suck here,” Eddie says. Mike confirms that they do. “Do they suck in California?” he asks Richie.

“Yeah, kinda,” Richie replies. 

“Oh, well then that’s off,” Eddie says. 

“I’ll get a breadmaker, we can make our own bagels,” Richie says, and Eddie beams. That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbearably cheesy alternate ending:  
> "Eddie's idea was better," Mike says.
> 
> "My little genius," Richie says, smooshing Eddie's cheeks, avoiding the stab wound this time. "Emphasis on little." 
> 
> "Emphasis on yours," Eddie says, throwing an arm around Richie's neck and jumping up so that Richie's forced to catch him in his arms bridal-style. He kisses Richie again, savoring the surprised gasps and "oh, shit"s from the other Losers as Richie tries to kiss back through his smile. 
> 
> "You're such a fucking loser," Richie whispers. 
> 
> "No, I'm gonna be fucking a Loser in like half an hour," Eddie whispers back. Richie groans and laughs at the same time, and kisses Eddie again as Eddie brings his hand up to the nape of Richie's neck and draws his head closer, deepening the kiss. It's much better out in the sunlight than in that damp, disgusting cave. He shifts from giddiness to passion when Richie lets go just enough to manhandle Eddie through the chest-deep water so that his legs are bracketing Richie's waist. That's better, Eddie thinks, licking into Richie's mouth, feeling light and, for once, carefree. 
> 
> He used to fantasize about doing this in high school, Richie grabbing hold of him and pressing him up against a locker, like he'd watched the countless straight couples do in those minutes between class bells, stolen kisses that Eddie would never get. This is better, though, because now he's not going to have to break apart from Richie to go sit in physics class and pretend he doesn't have a boner for 45 minutes, an inevitable consequence all those dry-humping heterosexuals had to deal with. He feels more like a teenager in love now than he did back then because he was never happy as a teen and he couldn't be happier now. 
> 
> "Boys," Bev's voice says, sometime later. 
> 
> "In a minute," Richie says, his voice muffled by Eddie's mouth. Only a minute? Fuck that, Eddie thinks, but Bev's probably right. He wants to clean up before he and Richie go any further. If he's going to be licking Richie's entire body like he wants to, Richie should probably wash off all the germs from the storm drains. He reluctantly pulls away and drops his legs to stand back on the ground, and Richie as reluctantly lets go. 
> 
> "That was cute and all, and I'm happy for you two, but can we go get breakfast?" Bill asks, and Eddie can hear Richie's stomach rumble. Breakfast sounds like a great idea, he must admit. 
> 
> "What a cockblock," Eddie whispers while Richie gives him a kiss on the temple. 
> 
> "Please, there's no blocking this cock," Richie says, and Eddie laughs. "It's unstoppable." 
> 
> "I fucking hope so," Eddie says, wrapping his arm around Richie's waist. Richie wraps one of his around Eddie's shoulders, and they catch up with the group. 
> 
> "Sorry," Richie says to the others, "but he promised we'd make out after we killed the clown." 
> 
> "I'm not sorry," Eddie says. "For the record." 
> 
> "Yeah, you're right, neither am I," Richie says. "Deal with it, motherfuckers." 
> 
> "Anyway, I think I want biscuits and gravy," Ben says, holding Bev's hand. 
> 
> "Waffles," Eddie says. 
> 
> "I'm gonna get whatever's got the word 'lumberjack' in the name," Richie says.
> 
> "Home fries or hashbrowns, some kind of potato, too," Ben says. 
> 
> "The most satisfying breakfast I've ever had was cold pizza and a beer after getting blackout drunk the night before," Bill says. "I saw heaven that day." 
> 
> "A breakfast burrito with extra avocado, a parfait, and a double espresso, that's my go-to," Bev says.
> 
> "Crepes. Or a croissant," Mike says. "Both. And cheesy scrambled eggs." 
> 
> "I'll bet the bagels suck here," Eddie says. Mike confirms that they do. "Do they suck in California?" he asks Richie. 
> 
> "Yeah, kinda," Richie replies.
> 
> "Oh, well then that's off," Eddie says.
> 
> "I'll get a breadmaker, we can make our own bagels," Richie says, and Eddie beams. That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to him. 


	2. Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating change, can I get a wahoo?

The shower isn’t big enough for Eddie and Richie to share. Maybe it’s for the best. Richie has to contort himself awkwardly to get fully under the spray, and he’d be blocking most of the water from hitting Eddie, or Eddie would be getting the full blast of the water while Richie stood shivering on the edge of the spray, and the water pressure sucks anyway. Besides, their friends are waiting to go to breakfast, so they wouldn’t be able to take their time, and Richie doesn’t want his first time having sex with the love of his life to be a quickie. He wants to draw it out as long as possible, to try out every fantasy that kept him awake as a horny and lovesick teenager, to learn what turns Eddie on and do that until he’s so wracked with pleasure that he can’t control himself. He’s always wound so tight—Richie’s going to destroy every one of his inhibitions bit by bit and have him begging and only stop when he’s boneless and _happy._

Richie lets Eddie shower first. They use his room, since Eddie’s shower curtain is missing and the bathroom is still covered in blood. Richie retrieves Eddie’s suitcases from his room and leaves the key on the bedside table. Eddie won’t be needing it anymore.

Eddie’s skin is red and glistening when he exits the bathroom, and Richie stares at the droplets of water sparkling in the chest hair that frames his small brown nipples. His shoulders are no longer covered in freckles like they had been when he was a kid; no matter how much sunscreen he wore, he always ended the summer with a light dusting across his nose. Richie had always found those freckles enchanting. Eddie must spend all his free time working out indoors now, because his biceps are very well defined, and his back muscles form a V shape. Richie can just picture Eddie in the gym, lifting weights and getting pissy at guys who don’t wipe the machines down after using them. The towel has no trouble at all staying up around Eddie’s trim waist and flat stomach as he bends over to rifle through his suitcase. Richie wishes it would fall—he wants to see Eddie’s ass. He’s tried so hard not to stare at it these past two days, but considering the making out and the love confession and the implication that Eddie would be moving to California, now he feels free to leer. Depending on what Eddie’s into, he’s hoping to be very well acquainted with that booty from here on out.

“Stop staring at my ass,” Eddie says, taking a vacuum-sealed bag of underwear out of his suitcase. The fact that he took the time to actually pack—roll up his clothes together to make them fit, put his small toiletries into a Ziploc baggie for airport security—even while he was out of his mind with terror at the prospect of returning to Derry, is the most endearing thing in the world to Richie.

“We both know that’s not gonna happen,” Richie says. “You brought an extra pair of shoes?” Richie asks, impressed. They’re also vacuum-sealed, and in a different compartment than the rest of his clothing. To keep the germs from the soles contained, Richie realizes.

“You didn’t?” Eddie asks.

“I own like three pairs of shoes and two of them are for fancy events. I didn’t think I’d need Gucci loafers to go clown hunting.”

“They’re not Gucci. You’re going to have to walk around in your disgusting sewer shoes all day?” Eddie frowns. “There’s bound to be a shoe store somewhere around here, we should get you a new pair. I’m burning everything we were wearing down there. They’re a fucking health hazard.”

“I’ll just go barefoot,” Richie says, specifically to see Eddie grimace.

“Ugh. Gross. Here,” Eddie says, tossing the bag of undies to Richie. “Pick out what you like.”

“I know I’m a fuck-up but I did bring an extra pair of underwear,” Richie says, kind of offended.

“No, idiot,” Eddie says patiently, cocking his hip to the side. “For me. What do you want me in?”

_Oh. Holy shit._

This is suddenly a very high stakes decision. The idea that this is something Eddie wants his input on, that Richie has any say in what Eddie’s going to look like half-naked, and that Richie will get to be the one to pull that underwear off is making Richie’s insides melt. There’s nothing salacious in the bag to choose from, though the possibilities pinging through Richie’s mind are good enough for now. In the future, something lacy, maybe. Or a jock strap. When he sees the red cotton briefs, he flashes back to those shorts Eddie used to wear, and how Richie couldn’t look away from his thighs whenever he did. “These,” he says, handing them over. They’re soft. He hopes they’re tight.

Eddie expects Richie to get off the bed and into the bathroom so he can change in privacy, but Richie’s not going anywhere, watching Eddie with rapt attention. Eddie smiles to himself and gestures to the bathroom, his posture loose but his voice authoritative. “Not yet. Go get cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Spaghetti, sir,” Richie says, his face hot as he stands and salutes. He invades Eddie’s space more than necessary while squeezing past, but he keeps his hands clenched at his sides, figuring if Eddie doesn’t want him to look yet, he’s not allowed to touch either. Rules. Richie can do rules if Eddie wants to do rules. If he just follows the rules he won’t accidentally fuck everything up.

“Good boy,” Eddie says, and Richie can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but _good lord_ , he did not expect that to take his breath away. Eddie gives him a sharp slap on the ass. “Get moving, we’re gonna be late.”

“I guess that means I’m not allowed to jack off in the shower?” Richie asks weakly, turning to look at Eddie’s bare chest and the line of hair trailing down into the towel wrapped around his waist. Not even a little bit of a tent in the towel. His calves are jacked, though, sharp angles covered in a smattering of hair. Richie wants to lick them. Why? Couldn't tell you. 

“Not if it means you won’t be able to get it up the second we get back from breakfast,” Eddie says.

“That won’t be a problem, look at you,” Richie says.

“ _Go_.”

Richie does. He doesn’t jack off in the shower, either. He allows the heat in his belly to slow to a steady simmer while the water loosens his muscles. He makes sure to get the gunk from Pennywise’s heart out from under his fingernails. Every trace of the clown must be gone before he touches Eddie. For the first time in a long, long time, he feels like he’s able to breathe, like his lungs have been scraped clean too. Everything might be OK. The clown's dead and Its accompanying miasma of devastation is gone too. He’s got Eddie, and he’s got the others, and they know every bit of him now, and they still love him. His whole life, he’s never felt loved back before, except for when he was in Derry. _Isn’t that fucked up?_

Hotel towels are always too small for him. He wraps it around his waist and it barely covers his knees. _Hirsute_ , he thinks, while looking down at his legs. _Fancy word for hairy. I hope Eddie's into that._ Eddie’s voice in the next room is muffled. Richie’s first thought is that one of the others is in the room, that they’re checking up on them for some reason, or waiting for him to finish getting ready and they’ll all be hangry. _Well, they’re just gonna have to wait. I’ve got to finish getting the shit off my glasses._ He kicks his clothes into the same wet pile Eddie’s are in behind the door. He can never put those on again. It’s a shame. He liked that leather jacket. He shouldn’t have brought it to clown town. As he brushes his teeth, Eddie’s voice rises higher, sounding upset, and that’s unacceptable. A female voice is audible too. It’s not Bev’s. He opens the door, curious.

Eddie’s on the phone, unfortunately fully clothed, sitting on the bed, a fresh bandage on his cheek, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told you, I’m _fine._ This isn’t about me being gay. Yes, I’m sure, Myra. This marriage isn’t working, you know it isn’t, and that’s what it’s about.” He pauses, letting Myra yell into the phone about couples therapy. “Myra, honey, please, just listen to me. The therapy didn’t work. It’s not going to work. I was lying through my teeth the whole time we were in Dr. Chakraborti’s office because I didn't want to upset you. Even while I was sitting there, I knew it wouldn’t work because I was checking out the therapist, that’s not a recipe for a successful marriage.”

Richie’s toothbrush is just dangling in his mouth amidst the foam because this is the juiciest conversation he’s ever eavesdropped on, even without his personal stake in the matter. Myra says something that Richie can’t make out, but her voice sounds small, hurt. Richie feels a flash of guilt tempered by a selfish thrill. This is actually happening. Eddie is leaving his wife. For Richie. _Eddie is leaving his wife for me, what the fuck._

“My other therapist—Yes, I was seeing another therapist without telling you—Myra, you—please, just—“

Richie spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth and pokes his head out the door. Eddie’s expression is pained. _Should I go to him? Would that make it better or worse?_

“It has nothing to do with your weight, honey. You know I’ve never cared about it. Stop it. You’re not ugly. You dieting won’t make me less gay. Myra.”

She’s crying now.

“And this marriage won't work unless you stop trying to control me—yes, you do, Myra, you always have—Myra. _Myra._ ”

There’s not a way for Richie to discreetly leave the bathroom and pretend he wasn’t listening, so he takes a deep breath and just steps on out to find his suitcase and go through it. He also didn’t bring any sexy underwear. Not that he owns any. He should go buy some sexy underwear. The boxers with little pictures of dogs on them will have to do. A fresh pair of jeans, a light gray tee, and—

He turns around and holds up two shirts. Eddie points to the blue one and gives him a little smile. Richie puts the other to the side and turns around to set his clothes on the chair.

“You’re literally doing it right now, you just can't accept—“ Eddie cuts himself off with a gasp, but it’s not because of something Myra says. It’s because Richie made deliberate eye contact and dropped his towel. He cocks an eyebrow as Eddie’s wide eyes travel up and down his body. Richie knows he’s not as fit as Eddie, but he’s also not as schlubby as his jokes imply. _Thirst Aid Kit_ did an episode calling him a snacc and he’s been riding that confidence boost for a year now.

“You like?” he mouths at Eddie, propping a leg up on the chair in a Captain Morgan pose, and Eddie bites his fist. He gives Richie a mischievous smile. _I made it better! I can't believe that worked._

Someone knocks at the door and Richie scrambles into his boxers. “Just a second,” he calls out to the person in the hallway, and regrets it immediately when Myra squawks through the phone, “Who the hell is that?!” Eddie gives him _what the fuck?_ hands. _Whoops._

Richie answers the door, trying to hide behind it. It’s Mike, also bare-chested. “Hey, can I borrow a shirt? Ben’s and Bill’s are too small.”

“Of course, man, but shh, Eddie’s on the phone and it’s kinda intense,” Richie says quietly. He lets Mike in, admiring the view. He’s fucking ripped. Way more of a snacc than Richie. Richie can’t even be mad about it. If Mike’s too muscular for _Ben’s_ wardrobe, that’s…a hell of a thing. He gets dressed and listens to Eddie trying to talk Myra down, annoyance creeping into his voice more and more with every sentence she allows him to get in.

“I told you, I’m seeing old friends. He’s one of them.”

Richie distinctly hears Myra say, “Does he have anything to do with this little stunt?” Richie’s been trying to reserve judgment even though his kneejerk reaction to her has always been unfavorable, which is to say extremely petty and jealous, but that decides it for him. _She can go straight to hell_. “Little stunt.” _Fuck that._ Eddie’s also lost his patience.

“Yes,” Eddie says curtly. “A lot to do with it. Mind your own business.”

“Let me talk to him,” Myra demands, and Richie and Mike look at each other. _This bitch is crazy,_ Mike’s eyebrows say. Richie holds out his hand, silently asking Eddie to give him his phone, he's suddenly got a lot to say to her, but Eddie shakes his head and actually laughs into the receiver.

“Fuck no. You’re gonna talk to a lawyer and no one else. Don’t call me unless you’re ready to sign some papers. I’ll get them served as soon as I get to California.” A pause. “Because he lives in California. I’ll come get my stuff when you’ve signed the papers.”

Mike holds out his fist for a fistbump and Richie pounds and explodes it, feeling like he could fly. The world’s stupidest grin is plastered over his face, he can tell. The only feeling close to this is a successful set in front of a huge theater of people, but even that isn't good enough, because they're not cheering for the whole Richie. This joy isn't tainted by any shame or phoniness. Pure light. 

The shirt Mike chooses is a lime green button-down with little lemons on it, and it looks far better on Mike than it does on Richie. Mike shows it off for them, more relaxed and playful than Richie has ever seen him, and Richie whistles. If he feels good now that Pennywise is dead, he can’t imagine how much better Mike must feel, after 27 years of the constant memories and the heavy fog of evil that fucking clown cast over Derry.

Eddie hangs up and exhales for a good ten seconds. Then he smiles up at Richie. “Well that’s over.” A weight’s been lifted off his shoulders too, for the first time in who knows how long. He looks great. When he smiles, the word "dashing" flits across Richie's mind. 

“Hey, uh, this is awkward, but I’m leaving you for Mike, sorry,” Richie says, throwing an arm around Mike’s waist.

“Mike’s welcome to join us,” Eddie says lightly.

“Tragically, I’m heterosexual,” Mike says, apologetic.

“Technically we both were too until last night,” Richie says, and Eddie laughs grimly.

“But I’m very flattered.” Mike looks at them warmly. Before the day is over he’s going to say he’s proud of them, Richie just knows it. The sap. He can’t wait.

“Bummer. For real though, if you do ever want to come visit in a platonic way, you’re always welcome. I’ve got a spare room. I swear there are no peepholes in it,” Richie says, withdrawing and sitting next to Eddie on the bed. Eddie leans into him.

“If that’s a serious offer I’m definitely taking you up on that,” Mike says. “I’m getting the fuck out of here at first light.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, man. I’ve given this place enough. My life’s purpose is done. I’m out.”

“Fuck yeah! Sleepover at my place!”

“Thanks, Richie,” Mike says.

“We should find out what flight Bill’s on and see if we can get tickets,” Eddie says. Always so practical. “Hey, how big are Ben’s feet?”

“I haven’t checked?” Mike asks. “I didn’t do _that_ much research trying to find you guys.”

“No, dumbass, Richie needs to borrow a pair of shoes. I’m burning his.”

“I know they’re ugly but that seems excessive,” Mike says, and Richie laughs.

“They’re unsanitary,” Eddie says. “Here, try my shower shoes, Rich.” He hands him a pair of flip-flops. _He brought shower shoes. Of course he did._

“There’s a shoe store on the way to the diner,” Mike says. “I need a new pair too.”

“Can that be our first stop?” Richie asks. The sandals almost fit, but his toes are curling over the front of the sole and his heels are hanging off the back. They’ll do for now.

“Sure. We’re taking two cars anyway. I think Ben’s shoes will fit me, let me go see if I can borrow a pair.”

“We also need to stop at a drugstore,” Eddie says. “Not Keene’s.”

“What for?” Richie asks. _Not another inhaler._

“Guess,” Eddie says, like Richie’s an idiot, the same tone he used when talking about the underwear, and Richie flushes. _Oh._

“Across the street from the diner, we can hit it on the way back,” Mike says. “Everyone else is pretty much ready to go, we’ll meet you down in the lobby in five.”

“Send them on ahead to get us a table,” Richie suggests.

“Nah, the more of us waiting on you, the quicker you’ll go,” Eddie says. “I’m starving and you know how bitchy Bill gets when his blood sugar is low.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t bring any granola bars to tide you over,” Richie says. “Or trail mix. You seem like a trail mix guy.”

“I already ate it and it just made me hungrier,” Eddie replies. “You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s eat.”

Mike stops back in Bev’s room, now Ben and Bev’s room (news that Richie greets with " _fucking finally"_ ), since Ben gave his to Mike, and Richie and Eddie meet Bill in the lobby. Eddie updates him on the errands they’re going to run and hands him a protein bar. Bill bites into it gratefully and looks at Richie curiously.

“You seriously didn’t bring an extra pair of shoes?”

“Why is that such a sticking point with everyone? No! I didn’t think I’d need them, I thought I was gonna be murdered! You don’t need shoes when you’re dead!”

“Oh, hey, what flight are you on? Mike and I are going to LA with Richie, it’d be fun if we all went together,” Eddie says as Mike, Bev, and Ben join them, Mike walking carefully in Ben’s shoes, which must be a little too tight.

“I have no idea, I’ll check when we get back. That would be fun but I’m gonna sleep the whole flight.”

“So we need to pick up a Sharpie at the drugstore,” Richie says. “I’m gonna draw a dick on Bill’s face.”

“Just like old times,” Ben says, smiling widely.

“Bev, help me pick out a good pair of shoes,” Richie says.

“Birkenstocks,” she says automatically, and Richie snorts. Those would go with his wardrobe. 

He doesn’t end up buying Birkenstocks but only because the store is out of them. He and Mike each pick out a pair of sneakers and Richie insists on buying Mike’s, and by then Bill has texted them from the car five times asking if they were done, so they hurry outside so they can drive to the diner. It’s rough going, considering the earthquake that rippled through Derry when Pennywise died and half the water system in the city went down with him. Half the streets are torn up and the others are flooding.They really lucked out that the hotel still had functioning pipes. The diner does too, thankfully. A group of locals have all gathered there, talking about the power outages and one explosion that they’ve also heard about since this morning.

“Mike, what happened at the library?” one of them calls to him.

“I don’t know, I haven’t been there yet today, I’ve been visiting with some friends,” Mike says. “What’s wrong?”

“Hoo-eee, the place looks bad,” the old man says. “Half of it’s collapsed and the other half’s burned down. Like lightning hit it or something, it’s the damnedest thing.”

“That’s not good,” Ben says.

“Isn’t all your stuff there?” Bill asks. Mike nods, dismayed.

“Anyone been inside?” Mike asks.

“Naw, don’t think so,” a different local old man says. “Carol’s frantic, says she’s not going in without you. Haven’t you been getting her calls?”

“My phone’s dead,” Mike says shortly. “I’ll stop by later today. Tell her to stay home and not worry about it, I’ll handle it.”

The hostess takes them to their table, and Mike nods goodbye.

“That kind of makes it easier to up and leave, I guess?” Eddie says.

“Good riddance,” Mike says.

“Hey, uh, what about Bowers?” Richie asks, suddenly nervous. He hasn’t even thought about the fact that he’d murdered a guy not twelve hours ago. Kinda fucked up that it slipped his mind like that, but, well, he’s been busy. 

“I think it’ll be fine,” Mike says quietly. “The cops here aren’t exactly good at their jobs. They’ll probably figure he was in the building when it collapsed and that’ll be it.”

_That sounds about right._

They ask the server to bring the food out as it’s ready, not to wait to bring it all together, because they’re _hungry_.

“Rough night?” she asks sympathetically.

“You can say that again,” Ben says, laughing.

“I hear ya, it’s been a weird day so far and it’s not even 10am,” she says. “Let me bring out that coffee for ya. Maybe some biscuits to tide you over.”

"You're a saint, Darlene," Mike says. 

When it arrives, Bill offers up a toast to Stanley, and they all drink solemnly. Richie gives Eddie a kiss on the temple, thankful that he at least made it out alive. He easily could’ve died in that storm drain. They all could’ve. And Richie would’ve been sad if any of them had, but Eddie’s death would have been a unique devastation.

It’s the best meal Richie’s ever had, especially because this one doesn’t end with fortune cookies that crawl around the table and hatch eyeballs. He’s dead on his feet and can’t wait to fall asleep next to Eddie, hopefully sticky and sweaty, but he’ll take anything as long as they wake up together.

Mike and Bill take Bill’s rental car to drive by the library while the two couples walk across the street to the drugstore.

All four of them head straight to the aisle with the “feminine needs” sign hanging above it. Ben picks out a box of condoms and Bev puts them back, picking up a box in the same size but ribbed. Richie gives her a thumbs-up while Ben’s ears turn red. Eddie’s got a bottle of lube and a pack of wet wipes. He gestures to Richie to pick out the size of condoms he’ll need. He picks up extra large, and Eddie whispers, “Fucking knew it.”

“Hey, babe, do you think they have whipped cream here?” Richie says loudly, trying to get Eddie to blush. It doesn’t work, but Bev laughs.

“We’ll need some Gatorade to replace our electrolytes,” she says, and she and Richie high-five.

“You want to get some candles and rose petals and shit?” Richie asks Ben, who blushes even more.

“Beep beep, Richie,” he says.

“Oh, Mike’s going to be staying with us in LA. We should get him some earplugs,” Richie says.

“A wheelchair,” Eddie pipes up.

“Why?” Bev asks.

“Because I don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow.” All four of them erupt with laughter and now Richie’s the one with the red face. _I am IN LOVE,_ he thinks deliriously.

The drive back to the hotel is far too slow. He’s in the passenger seat because his legs are too long for the back, and he just wants to be touching Eddie. Instead Eddie and Bev are in the back talking in whispers and Ben's singing along to John Denver on the radio. It’s not fair.

“Race you upstairs,” Richie says to Ben once they get out of the car, and for once Ben plays along, sprinting through the hotel lobby, taking the stairs two at a time, elbowing Richie out of the way.

“Call me when you’re done, we’ll compare notes,” Richie calls to him down the hallway. They're a few doors down from each other, which is good, because Richie's not ashamed, but it's still uncomfortable for your friends to hear your sex noises, and for you to hear theirs. 

“Gross,” Ben says, opening his door and waiting for Bev. She and Eddie are taking an unusually long time.

“Try to wait until it’s over to cry,” Richie says.

“Same to you, buddy,” Ben says genially.

“Not a chance. Dreams are coming true, man.”

Ben smiles softly. “Mine too. We’re lucky, huh?”

“Fuck yeah, I don’t deserve him,” Richie says.

“That’s not true.”

“I’m happy for you,” Richie says, completely sincerely. “You’re perfect together. I was always rooting for you two crazy kids.”

“It was really that obvious?” Ben asks.

“Adorably so.”

“I had no idea. About you.”

“Well, I tried really hard to keep it that way.”

“That must’ve sucked, I’m sorry. It wouldn’t have mattered to us.”

Richie’s heart collapses, just a little bit. He should’ve known that then. “Couldn’t take that chance.”

“Must be good to be free now,” Ben says.

“It really fucking is,” Richie says, grinning widely.

Bev and Eddie round the corner, and he and Ben both inhale sharply at the same time, like they're at the altar watching the aisle, and the church doors have just opened. They’re so whipped. It feels fantastic.

For once in his life, Richie doesn’t make a dumb joke to hide his discomfort when Eddie approaches. For once in his life, he’s going to allow himself to be serious. He lets Eddie into the room, closes the door behind him, and says, “I missed you.”

“Bev’s getting divorced too,” Eddie says, tossing their bag of supplies on the bed. “We talked about it a little. Sorry to take so long.”

He reaches up and gives Richie a feather-soft kiss. Richie’s so in love he feels stupid with it. He cups Eddie’s face carefully in his hands, avoiding the bandage on his cheek. “Is this going to be all right?” he asks, touching the edge of it with his thumb.

“Can’t feel a thing,” Eddie says, kissing Richie again. They spend several long minutes indulging in the languorous, slow press of lips to lips and tongue to tongue. It’s everything Richie’s ever wanted.

Eddie pulls away to whisper, “Go close the curtains.”

Richie does, though it’s bright enough out that the sun still shines through, and he can see Eddie. No way is he doing this in the dark or without glasses. Not this time. He needs to see everything. Eddie brings the small wastebasket closer to the bed ( _always thinking ahead, that’s my Eddie!_ ) and opens up the box of condoms and bottle of lube, setting them on the bedside table next to the alarm clock. Eddie takes a condom out and unwraps it so it’ll be ready to go when they need it. Smart. Richie’s fumbled with the packaging, the foil jumping out of his slippery, clumsy fingers, more times than he cares to remember. Richie watches him fondly, surprisingly not nervous. There's no way for him to mess this up. Eddie's made that clear already. That kind of security is foreign to him, but it's intoxicating. _This is_ _really happening._

Everything ready, Eddie looks satisfied. “Get the fuck over here,” he says. Richie doesn’t need to be told twice. Eddie reaches up to twine his arms about Richie’s neck, but Richie’s got other ideas. He shoves Eddie down onto the bed.

“Hey!”

“You have no idea what I’ve wanted to do to you,” Richie says, unbuttoning Eddie’s jeans.

“Yeah? Tell me,” Eddie says, his brown eyes going darker. Richie thought he knew what they looked like, had memorized every expression in them but he was wrong; right now, it's like seeing Eddie for the first time because this is the first time Eddie's ever looked at him like this. His heart is volcanic. 

“First I’m gonna suck your brains out through your dick, then I’m gonna fuck whatever brains you’ve got left out of you,” Richie says.

“Oh, Christ,” Eddie says, his breath coming out in a _whoosh_ , kicking off his shoes frantically. “You’re perfect. Give it to me.”

“You’re perfect” rings in Richie’s ears as he pulls off Eddie’s jeans and socks while Eddie tears off his tight Henley. Eddie’s the one who’s perfect, but Richie's a genius. He couldn't be happier with the choice of underwear. Richie’s mouth waters and he just puts his head right in Eddie’s lap and sniffs deeply.

“You smell incredible,” he says, tonguing at the head of Eddie’s cock through the fabric. He’s already hard. Richie’s getting there too, faster than he has in the past 27 years.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Eddie says. “Since we were kids. I’m sorry I waited until now.”

“I’d have waited forever,” Richie says simply, because it’s true. He nuzzles Eddie’s cock through the fabric again, the wetness spreading and darkening the red. Richie’s whole problem is that he’s rushed through life, trying to get it over and done with as much as possible, because it was never satisfying for some reason he couldn’t understand. He knows why now. Eddie was missing. That’s why. Now that he’s here, he’s not going to rush. 

“How do you like it?” he asks Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits. A pull of melancholy hits Richie in the center of his chest. Eddie’s never been on the receiving end of desire, has he? It boggles Richie’s mind, but judging by what Richie’s heard about his former life, he has another reason to hate Myra. She had Eddie all to herself and didn’t even try to make him feel good. Blasphemy. Sacrilege. A crime against humanity, against Eddie’s humanity.

“Let’s find out.” He presses a string of kisses up Eddie’s happy trail, and Eddie hums approvingly.

“I like that,” Eddie says.

“Good.” Richie slips his fingers down through the waistband of the briefs, gently wrapping them around Eddie’s shaft. “Tell me. I want to hear everything.”

“I love that,” Eddie says, gasping.

Richie tightens his grip and slowly pumps up, then down, up, then down. He can tell Eddie likes it because he gets even harder. His skin is velvety smooth and hot.

“You’re off to a great start,” Eddie says.

 _Good, not great,_ Richie thinks. _Too dry._ He withdraws his hand and holds it up to Eddie’s mouth. “Lick.” Eddie moans beneath his palm. He suckles Richie’s fingers into his hot, wet mouth until they’re slick.

“You’re right, that is better,” Eddie says when Richie’s resumed tugging him off, kissing him thorougly. 

“Let’s get rid of these,” Richie says, snapping the waistband of the now-soaked and tented red briefs. “I want to see you.”

“Yesssss,” Eddie hisses.

Richie rests on his knees for a moment once they’re gone, taking it all in. Eddie’s shorter, it’s true, but he’s lithe, and strong, and the most beautiful thing Richie’s ever seen. He fidgets while Richie looks, not used to scrutiny, especially not used to the awe in Richie’s face.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Richie breathes out.

“Average at best.”

“Don’t be modest. This is the best-looking dick I’ve ever seen in my life,” Richie says, swiping his thumb across the tip, smearing the leaking precum down it.

“I want to see yours,” Eddie says.

“Not yet,” Richie says, echoing Eddie’s words and tone from earlier. If he takes off his clothes he’s going to speed right through this so he can get off himself, and that’s unacceptable. 

He settles down on bent elbows and sucks Eddie down, relaxing his throat as much as possible in an attempt to get down to the hilt. The _noise_ Eddie makes, a choking sound mixed with a low groan. That’s the best thing Richie’s ever heard. Can he make Eddie do it again?

Yes, he can, he hears it again when Richie hollows out his cheeks on the way back up, the tang of more precum squirting onto his tongue. If only he didn’t need to breathe, he wouldn’t have to pause to pull off. Stupid oxygen, interrupting his new favorite hobby. He rubs the tip against the inside of his cheek when he does disconnect, making a small popping noise. He takes Eddie’s balls into his mouth, loving the slightly salty taste, how full they make his mouth feel, how much Eddie likes it. He experiments with speed and pressure, lost in the sensation of Eddie under his tongue and his hand in his hair. Switching between the balls, the shaft, the head, the perineum. Working with his hand what he can't reach with his mouth. He hauls Eddie's legs over his shoulders so he can lift Eddie slightly off the bed and grope his ass at the same time as sucking him off. Tight muscle. The perfect size for Richie's hands. Eddie's thighs are shaking around Richie’s ears. _Just another minute, and he’s gone,_ Richie thinks. He’s never been this proud of himself.

When he softly presses his thumb against Eddie’s rim, Eddie pulls Richie’s curls enough to hurt. “Richie, stop, lay off.” He does immediately.

“Are you OK?” he asks, worried that he’s pushed too far.

“I’m fucking fantastic, I’m just really close and I don’t want to come without you in me,” Eddie says, breathless. “Now take off your fucking clothes and let me see your dick.”

Richie stands, wipes off his face on the hem of his shirt, and tosses his glasses onto the bed so he can take off his shirts without getting them all tangled up. He throws them aside and puts the glasses back on. Eddie looks wrecked already, his hair flopping down onto his forehead in sweaty waves, the pommels of his cheeks red, Adam’s apple bobbing, chest flushed with color, cock glistening with Richie’s saliva. Richie takes a mental picture, wishing he could reach for his phone and take an actual one to have forever, but Eddie wouldn’t be cool with that, so he’s got to just look and commit to memory what he sees and how it makes him feel. Invincible, primarily. Powerful.

“Pants,” Eddie demands.

Again, Richie refrains from wisecracks. He just does what he’s told, shivering when the air hits his leaking cock.

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie says. “Holy shit, you look good.”

Richie’s never thought so, but when Eddie says it, he believes it. Richie reaches for the lube on the bedside table and pops the cap open with a satisfying click.

“How do you want it?” Richie asks.

“I want to see your face,” Eddie says.

“Perfect. We can do that.”

He crawls back over Eddie and sticks his tongue down his throat, grinding down against Eddie’s hip. The friction is incredible. “ _Shit_ ,” he bites out. “ _God._ ” Eddie huffs in agreement around his tongue, bucking his hips up to meet Richie’s. 

“This is your first time so we’re going to take it slow,” Richie says, reaching down to finger Eddie’s hole.

“No, I want it fast and hard,” Eddie says. “I want to feel it tomorrow. I wasn’t joking, man, I don’t want to be able to walk.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Richie says, and his stupid voice breaks on the emotion.

“You won’t. You never would.”

“But if I do, you tell me when to stop. Promise me.”

“I promise. I love you so much, Richie.”

Tears prickle behind Richie’s eyelids, but he refuses to cry from happiness until Eddie’s asleep. He kisses Eddie deeply and urgently, even as his fingers patiently work Eddie open. He writhes beneath Richie. Richie licks a bead of sweat from his collarbone and sucks a bruise into Eddie’s neck. By the time the bruise is nice and purple, he’s up to three fingers and Eddie is pushing greedily against his hand.

“Just a sec,” Richie says, crooking his finger to hit Eddie’s prostate. Eddie’s abs tense and he nearly flies up and involuntarily headbutts Richie. Richie dodges at the last second, laughing quietly.

“Holy _fuck,_ Eddie says. “Do that again.”

“You got it, sweetheart,” Richie says, and does. Eddie moans loudly and claps a hand over his mouth. Richie tears it away and crooks his finger again, swallowing the moan in a kiss. Eddie tries to kiss back but is too overcome with pleasure to put any finesse into it.

“Again,” he says, sounding drunk. Richie obliges, but then he pulls out with a squelching noise. Eddie pops his eyes open, ready to complain, but he sees that Richie’s rolling on the condom, and he bites his bottom lip. That accomplished, Richie grabs a pillow and nestles it under Eddie’s hips.

“You ready?” Richie says against Eddie’s lips, pressing another kiss there.

“I’m so ready,” Eddie says.

Richie drizzles more lube over Eddie’s hole and his prick, lines himself up, and, without taking his eyes from Eddie’s face, slowly pushes in. Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, the lines in his forehead thickening as he adjusts, but he exhales shakily and says, “Keep going. That feels amazing.”

Amazing is an understatement. Eddie’s tight and hot and remarkably responsive. The muscles squeeze around Richie as he takes more in, and it’s unlike anything Richie’s felt before.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Eddie says. “I love you. God, I’ve wanted this forever. It’s so much better than I thought, how is that even possible?”

_Eddie’s chatty. I wasn’t expecting that._

“Are you ready for more?”

“There’s _more_?”

“I’m about halfway.”

“Christ, fuck yes, give me all of it.” He’s impatient, but Richie takes another minute to bottom out. He's had partners take it too fast, and he doesn't want that for Eddie. 

“You still good?”

“I’m so full,” Eddie says in wonder. “It feels—“

Richie pulls out a few inches, and slowly presses back in, and Eddie swears a blue streak. He does it again, harder, and Eddie’s eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back in his head, his jaw slack with pleasure.

“Richie, Richie, Richie,” Eddie pants, like it’s a mantra, as Richie picks up speed, building up a steady rhythm. He’s trying so much not to just pound thoughtlessly into Eddie, and his arms are starting to shake from the effort of holding himself back. But the last of the resistance from Eddie’s muscles wears out, and he finally pistons in and out, in and out. Richie sits back on his heels, spreading his knees wider, dragging Eddie with him, wrapping his legs around his waist, and fucking into him even harder, his hips lifting with every thrust, deeper than before. He hits Eddie’s prostate over and over, and Eddie wails. The headboard is hitting the wall, and between his own breathing and Eddie’s babbling and moaning, it’s a symphony. Eddie’s so lost that he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to touch himself, so Richie does it for him, and Eddie immediately squirts cum all over his stomach, his ass tightening, his abs flexing, his thighs squeezing Richie’s waist. He looks beautiful. Richie pumps into him and keeps stroking until Eddie puts his hand over his.

“Stop for a sec, holy shit,” Eddie says. “It’s so good but—“

Richie stills his hips with a herculean amount of self-control.

“No, not that, keep fucking me,” Eddie says, removing their hands from his sensitive cock, and Richie groans. He pushes Eddie back on the bed and attacks his mouth, only making it a few more erratic thrusts before he’s coming, Eddie’s name punched out of his lungs while he pulses longer and harder than he ever has before. His heart is racing. He’s never felt so alive. Eddie peppers kisses to his jaw, his left eyebrow, the tip of his nose, wherever he can reach.

“Richie, baby, you’re beautiful, that was so hot, you’re so good, I feel amazing, I love you, I love you.”

Richie’s trembling. He pulls out and gingerly peels off the condom, tying it off and depositing it in the trashcan. He opens the pack of wet wipes and tenderly cleans Eddie up, then himself. He strips off the top sheet of the bed and snuggles up under the next one, drawing Eddie against his chest.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I just killed God,” Eddie says, digging his chin into Richie’s chest.

Richie chuckles. “That’s a great way of putting it.” He feels that way too.

“I’m God now.”

“Yours is the only church I’ll join,” Richie says.

“I’m gonna sleep for a week and then you can worship me again,” Eddie says, yawning.

“I can’t wait.”


	3. A Different Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My heart burns there too.

The butterflies don’t start in earnest until she’s standing under the awning of the restaurant where she’s supposed to see her best friends outside of her dreams for the first time in 27 years. She only recognizes Ben at first because she’s seen him die. Otherwise she never would’ve guessed that the fluffy teddy bear she knew as a kid was the tall, gruff-voiced man standing before her now. He looks nervous, and that’s how she knows it’s really him. He always seemed to be slightly nervous, on the brink of breathlessness. Not like Eddie. A different nervous breathlessness. She never was able to put her finger on it. There’d been a lot of other stuff to worry about that summer.

Ben had always died in her dreams in a motorcycle accident, running into the back of a semi-truck with such force that his head was removed from his body as the bike slid under the trailer. She softly touches his neck, thankfully still intact, as she hugs him. Then Richie appears, exactly the same, just with more stubble. In her dreams, he usually overdoses on some fancy Hollywood party drug that doesn’t mix with the alcohol he’s been slamming back all night. He gives her a kiss on the cheek.

It’s not until she sees Eddie giving Richie a kiss in the storm drains the next night that she remembers that she’d been on the receiving end of a kiss like that too. She looks over, and Ben’s stacking rocks frantically, one eye on the clown and one eye on Richie and Eddie. It had been him. He’d saved her from the Deadlights. He’d kissed her, and because, in his childlike naiveté, he’d believed it would work, it had.

The poem. That was him, too. That poem had given her comfort through more nights than she could remember.

And the yearbook page bearing her signature had been his token. He’d kept it with him this whole time, not just in his heart, where she’d kept the poem. Seeing him these past two days, she’d realized that his poem wasn’t all that had lived in her heart for those long, missing years. His kindness, his devotion to the Losers, his intelligence, his courage. The way they could talk to each other and understand how the other thought without any effort. She felt that old need to protect him rise within her again.

“Bev, how’s your aim?” Ben calls to her. “Richie started a rock war, I think we should finish it.”

“Champion softball pitcher in college,” Bev says. “He’s going down.”

Ben hoists up a rock the size and heft of a medicine ball, squats, and throws it like a child throws a basketball. He knocks Pennywise’s tentacle-talon-leg-thing off course, saving Eddie from getting skewered. In her dreams, she’d never understood exactly what happened, just that Eddie had a hole through his chest and they found him sitting up and bled out. When she saw the spider legs Pennywise had grown, she knew that was what had punched a hole through Eddie’s torso. But not this time. Had Ben just changed Eddie’s fate?

She takes aim with her own sharp rock, which she launches with certainty that it’ll hit Pennywise. It lands right in Its eye. “Nice one!” Ben says to her, picking up a rock the size of a shotput.

Richie’s still in Its path, moving clumsily. “Get out of the way, Richie!” she screams at him as Eddie drags him away. They need to get Eddie away from the clown. He can’t die like in her dreams.

Ben’s rock hits the clown in Its stupid red nose. _Honk honk._

“I think they’re safe for now,” Ben says. “I don’t see them anymore.”

And that must be true, because Pennywise is focusing on her and Ben now. The gleam in Its eye reminds her of her husband, of her father. Instead of fear, she feels anger. If the old woman at her father’s house had been her fear of a lonely, hideous future, this predatory stare is her fear of her lonely, hideous past. That fear isn’t going to rule her anymore. _We’re gonna win this._

Ben grabs her and pulls her behind a huge chunk of rock. It laughs at their pathetic attempt at hiding.

“Listen, if we don’t survive, I need you to know—“ Ben starts, his deep voice sounding strangled. Breathless again. She cuts him off.

“ _When_ we survive I think we should get dinner someplace really romantic.” Ben looks at her like she’s insane. “Maybe Paris.”

“What about Bill?” Ben blurts out.

“He’s not the one I want.”

“But, you were kissing—“

 _Aw, shit, he’d seen that?_ She’d needed to know, to remember how it felt. The way she used to feel about him, she needed to know what that was. Bill had always made her feel nervous and squirmy, in a good way. She’d have died for him. She nearly did. But when she’d kissed him yesterday, it was like kissing any other man. No spark of destiny. Nothing. The position he occupied in her life was platoon leader. She’d still follow him through hell without asking if he wanted company, and that scared her. But a normal, everyday life with Bill? No. That didn’t fit at all. Bill has what she needs in an emergency. For the get-up-go-to-work-come-home-go-to-sleep kind of life, she needs steadiness and comfort.

“That’s how I know he’s not it for me.”

Pennywise swipes a large hunk of twisted metal out of his path, advancing on Ben and Bev. He throws a boulder next. Getting closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Richie and Eddie running behind them, joining Bill and Mike. She clutches a rock in each hand, bloody sweat dripping down from her temples.

“Paris, huh? I can do Paris.”

“Then it’s a date.”

A talon shears halfway down their rock before losing momentum and getting stuck. She and Ben smash it with their rocks, knocking off the sharp end. _One less skewer for Eddie to die on_. Pennywise rears back, taking his bleeding leg with him. She braces herself for another hit. Ben darts out and torpedoes a jagged rock right into Its mouth. It spits it out, furious. Its mouth is beginning to bleed, Its own blood dripping down Its chin for once.

“Ben, Bev, I know how to kill it!” Eddie’s voice rings out behind them.

“I KNOW HOW TO KILL IT,” Pennywise mocks in a high-pitched voice. Ben and Bev take the opportunity to scamper away to the others. “YOU CAN’T KILL ME. I’M THE EATER OF WORLDS.”

Eddie’s idea is to make Pennywise small. Simple enough. Mike’s idea is to bully It into oblivion. Less traditional, but it works too. The ash of Pennywise’s heart floats above them, and then they have to haul ass to escape the collapsing sewer system. When they get above ground and watch Neibolt House settle into a pile of dust, Bev looks up at Eddie to check once again that he’s whole.

He is. He’s clinging to Richie. They’re both a mess, but who isn’t? Speaking of. “I need to get this blood off. I feel disgusting.”

The quarry might be Bev’s favorite spot. The Barrens had been complicated for her. But the quarry held only positive memories. It cleanses her in more ways than just physically today.

Still, the shower at the Town House is very much appreciated. Ben smiles at her shyly when she offers his room up to Mike to use. There’s no point in being coy about this. If Richie and Eddie can casually resolve their decades-long sexual tension, there’s no reason she and Ben can’t.

Ben’s not very casual, though. He’s trying so hard to seem like he’s capable of casualness when he brings his suitcase into her room and asks if she wants the shower first, but he’s fidgeting adorably, far cuter in that moment than a stunningly handsome man ought to be.

“I left my husband,” she says, watching him.

“Oh, um.”

“I thought the story would go that I left my abusive piece-of-shit husband and would come back to this piece-of-shit town and I’d end up with the one that got away. I’d always thought of Bill as the one that got away, like it was inevitable. First kiss, first crush, that’s how it ends. But he wasn’t.”

“Beverly—“

“It was kid stuff. I brought it back with me, thinking it could be real. But it wasn’t. The loyalty lasted, but the crush didn’t.”

“How do you know this could be real?” he asks, gesturing between the two of them.

“I don’t,” she says. “But I know a way to find out.” She taps a finger to her bottom lip, already stretched out in a smile at the look of fearful hope on his face. He closes the distance between them carefully, taking her face in both hands. She closes her eyes when he tilts her face up to his, and when his lips meet hers, it feels right. It feels like coming home. A spark of destiny.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, when he’s pulled away.

“Anything.”

“I think you were right,” Ben says. “I think that’s how the story was supposed to go.”

She blinks. “What?” There is no possible way he gave her that beautiful, perfect, tender kiss and decided that actually, she should go be with _Bill._

“You were my first kiss,” he says. “And my first crush. I think this is how the story should end. Me coming home to the one who got away. That was always you.”

Bev smiles. “You felt it too? Just now?”

“I felt it.” He leans back down and kisses her again, a little bit harder, a lot less tentative.

A few minutes later, just as Bev is wondering if she should tell the others to go ahead to breakfast without them, she’s got something more important to do, which is climb Ben like a tree, a knock at the door interrupts them.

“Hey, Ben, can I borrow some clothes?” Mike asks. “Mine are all sewagey.”

Ben breaks away and groans quietly. “Yeah, of course, buddy.”

“I’m gonna get in the shower. I still smell like blood.”

“I’ll…wait patiently, I guess,” Ben says. “What’s a few more hours?”

 _Poor thing._ She squeezes his hand and goes into the bathroom to start up the shower.

She’s never been one to dawdle in the shower. Too much other stuff to be doing rather than indulging in something frivolous, just because it felt good. Plus, a certain uneasiness had always plagued her in bathrooms, near drains. She couldn’t trace the origin of that discomfort until Mike called and she remembered the blood. Habit carries her through the shower quickly. She’s out in ten minutes, and only that long because she washed her hair twice, shaved her legs, and tidied up her bikini line. She can’t tell which bruises are from her fight with Tom and which are from her fight with Pennywise.

She sits and Googles divorce lawyers in the Chicago area while Ben’s washing up. Tom is probably not going to let her back in their house. She should text her friend Kay, who’d always told her to come stay with her if she ever came to her senses and left Tom. Her thumb hovers over her messages with Kay, however. Bev can’t quite bring herself to start that conversation yet.

Ben’s dressed and ready to go by the time Mike returns to ask to borrow shoes (Richie’s closest to his size but he didn’t bring an extra pair. _Typical Richie_ ), and shares the news that Eddie’s also leaving his spouse _. Facing death and kissing a childhood sweetheart really puts things in perspective, I guess_.

“He’s moving out to California with Richie and invited me to go with them,” Mike says.

“Do it. Get the fuck out of this place,” Bev says. “I’d invite you back to my house but Tom would kill us both.”

“Eh, it’ll be cold soon, Chicago’s weather is too much like here’s. LA sounds good for now.”

“Besides, we’re going to Paris tomorrow,” Ben says, “and no offense but you’re not invited.”

“You booked the flight?” Bev asks.

“While you were in the shower.”

“Bon voyage,” Mike says. “And bon appétit, oui?”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Ben says. “Let’s go.”

Throughout breakfast, Ben steals half her bacon off her plate and pretends it was Richie. He takes his coffee with a little milk and no sugar. She doesn’t remove her hand from his thigh for the entire meal. She and Richie banter back and forth while buying condoms, each trying to get their new partners to blush (it works), and on the way back to the hotel, she whispers to Eddie that she’s proud of him.

“You’re very brave to go after what you want,” she says.

“Thanks, Beverly,” Eddie says, pleased. “I can’t believe I’m really doing it.”

“I can. And you won’t regret it, not for a second.”

“And you? You and Ben are really--?”

“Yeah, we are. I’m divorcing my husband too. Tom is not a good person.”

“You can’t get better than Ben,” Eddie says.

“I know. You and Richie are going to be very happy,” she says.

“Yeah, we will be,” Eddie replies through a smile.

She and Eddie talk a little bit more about the logistics of handling a divorce—she’s going to have to figure out how to split the company with Tom, she’ll probably have to buy out his share, Eddie says—and then they make their way upstairs to meet Ben and Richie. Richie’s grinning like a fool. Bev expects to hear a Pepe le Pew voice or something similar drop out of his mouth, but Richie doesn’t say anything at all; he just silently radiates happiness.

Ben opens the door wide enough for her to pass through, then closes it behind him. She kicks off her shoes and smiles up at him.

“Hey,” he says, taking a deep breath.

“Hey.”

“Have I ever told you you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?” he asks, running his fingers through her hair.

“Not in as many words.”

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“I have never met someone as romantic and kind and _good_ as you,” she says. “It was all worth it to bring me back to you.”

Tears sparkle in Ben’s eyes and he kisses her again. She can feel the full 27 years of longing behind this kiss.

“I know what you’re thinking and I want you to stop it,” she says. “This doesn’t have to be perfect and it isn’t your only shot. There’s no reason to be nervous. I’m just a person.”

“You’re a fucking mind reader,” Ben says, his voice thick, burying his head in her neck.

_No, I’ve just spent my entire life monitoring men’s reactions to me. I don’t want that with you._

“Promise you’ll never make me have to guess what you’re thinking. This will only work if there’s complete honesty between us.”

“I promise.”

“I promise too. Now what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I want to fuck you into the mattress but in a classy way.”

_This complete honesty agreement is working spectacularly so far._

“OK, now you’re the mind reader.”

She recognizes his belt buckle from her own menswear line as she works the soft leather free from his jeans in between kisses. He’s wearing a soft long-sleeve tee, and she’s wearing a blue sundress with red birds, and unwrapping each other is a new pleasure. They alternate taking off one item from the other at a time, running their hands over each other’s newly revealed skin. When she touches his stomach, he flinches back just a hair. She kneels to get closer, pressing her fingertips to the crooked H carved into his abdomen and following it up with a small kiss. She does the same to the old, whitish stretch marks still visible along the edge of his belly.

Since she’s so close, she can smell his arousal, a small wet spot on his boxer briefs from the tip of his cock already dripping precum. She hasn’t even touched him yet. Though, it’s not much of a surprise, because she’s wet too. Taking it slowly is only turning her on more.

“Please touch me,” he says. “Please, Beverly.” She drags his waistband down to mid-thigh and wraps a hand around his thick cock.

“Gorgeous,” she says, walking her fingers up the vein on the underside.

“Bev, I—mother of God!” he says as she licks the tip. She’s always enjoyed doing this for her partners. Some more than others. Ben is by far the most vocally appreciative man she’s ever done this to. Bobbing and sucking, digging her fingernails into his thighs, taking him in as far as she can. He tastes a little muskier than she’s used to, especially under his balls. It smells amazing.

“Bev, darling,” he says, drawing her head away from his body. “I love this, but I need to get my hands on you.” She wipes her mouth and stands, wobbling a little. He puts a hand on each bare breast and squeezes and rolls them beneath his palms, her sensitive nipples already pebbling. His mouth travels up and down her neck, licking and biting and kissing.

His hand travels down her back to softly caress the curve of her ass, contouring the shape of it, as if he wants to sculpt it and needs to memorize how it looks and feels. He watches as the fabric of her panties dimples and wrinkles under his touch, and the way it slowly pulls away as he draws them down past the swell of her cheeks. It’s lucky they’re doing this in the middle of the day, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to see, and she knows he’s trying to memorize every detail.

While he’s playing with her ass, she decides to play with his cock, stroking it slowly, with a loose, teasing grip, nowhere near enough friction. It makes him shiver and rut up against her hip mindlessly. She wants to see him lose his composure. But it’s a delicate balancing act, because if she’s too good at that, he’ll come too soon and she’ll be left to finish herself off while he falls asleep. _Gently, gently._

“Lie back on the bed,” he says to her, being careful not to shove her down or manhandle her in any way. She’s never told the others about how her father and husband treated her, but Ben must have intuited it. He’s letting her decide how rough it’s going to get. She’s been so strong and so tough for so long, and she’s proven that she can take care of herself. He was right beside her when they pulled out an alien clown’s heart, for fuck’s sake. She doesn’t have to prove anything to him. Just this once, she wants to be treated delicately.

 _Romantic and kind and good,_ she thinks again. She draws him back with her as she lies on the bed, licking into his mouth and hitching a leg up over his hip. The making out doesn’t last as long as she’d like; Ben takes it upon himself to draw her panties the rest of the way down her legs, watching as her cunt comes into view. The look on his face as he stands before her is awed, like she’s the Sphinx or Niagara Falls, or something majestic instead of Bev Marsh, a dirty girl who swore and played with boys in the dump and smoked too many cigarettes. She doesn’t deserve this reverence, as flattering as it is to receive it. _I’m just a person_.

“How we doing, champ?” she asks.

“I’m having a heart attack,” he says affably, running his thumb up and down her slit, causing her to convulse with pleasure. “You’re really OK with--?”

“With what?”

He presses his mouth to her cunt, his tongue parting the slick folds. She’s never felt comfortable having this done to her, shying away from the attention. It’s so one-sided. Tom did it like it was a chore.

“Oh, I’m—mmmmm—yeah, I’m great with this,” she says, as he gets down on his knees and pulls her to the edge of the bed, throwing her knees over his shoulders so his ears are between her thighs. He’s settling in like he’s going to have to change his postal code, like he’s going to live in this spot until she’s wrung out and exhausted. And he looks stoked about it. His fingers enter her smoothly, not even a pinch of discomfort, and his tongue is long and hot and flicking quickly against her clit. He’s _good_ at this. The clitoral stimulation is enough to make her come once, quickly, but it’s not enough. She wants to feel full. She wants to feel active.

Her hands disentangle from his hair with a little bit of effort, and she casts them around on the bed, looking for the bag with the condoms in it. _Bingo._

On second thought, she takes another five minutes of riding his tongue, enough to bring her off once again. His grunts of pleasure are almost louder than hers. It’s been a rough couple days. A rough couple years. They both need this.

“Hey,” she says, once she can breathe again.

“Hey,” he says, lifting his face, his chin dripping, his eyes glazed over.

“You ready?” She holds up the box of condoms.

“If you’re ready, I’m ready.”

“Join me,” she says, crooking her finger in a “come hither” gesture. He crawls up the bed, his cock swollen and red and dripping, and climbs into the sheets next to her. She slides the condom on, no problem, though he exhales carefully, like he’s trying to think about baseball when she’s got her hands around him.

Now. How does she want this? He’d been lying on his back while she put the condom on, so she figures that’s a good enough place to start. She straddles his legs and lines herself up. His hands clamp on her thighs as she lowers herself down, taking him in easily, as if they were made to fit into each other like this. Her muscles are loose and easy, and he thrusts up into her as if he can’t help himself. The pounding is delicious, exactly what she was missing.

“Yeah, just like that, baby, do that again,” she says, and he moans, thrusting up as she grinds down, the _smack smack smack_ of their bodies making a beautiful percussion. They fall into a rhythm of her quickly rolling her hips and him humping up into her, panting loudly. It's familiar. The expression in his eyes can only be described as worshipful. That, however, is unfamiliar. It makes her feel like she's under a spotlight and doesn't know her lines. 

“Beverly, Beverly, Beverly,” he whispers. “Fuck, Beverly, I’m, fuck I’m so in love with you, Bev, I—“

It’s too much. “Here,” she says, getting down and turning to kneel on all fours, hiding her face. If only her hair were longer.

“No, no, I want to see you,” Ben says, catching a hold of her arm, and she wants to cry but has no idea why.

“OK,” she says, “we can do it however you want.” And her voice quavers, now, of all times. Like she’s a little girl. She hates it. “I just didn’t want it to be boring, or—“

“Whoa, whoa, are you all right?” Ben says, stilling. He looks so worried, and it makes her feel even worse.

“I’m fine,” she says, tears brimming over her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing on earth wrong with you,” Ben says, cupping her cheek. She closes her eyes. _I'm such an idiot. Such an unholy mess of a girl._ “Beverly. What do you need from me?”

“I don’t know.” She draws her knees up to her chin.

“What do you want me to do? How can I make it better?”

“I don’t know,” she says, sniffling. “I’m all mixed up.”

“Is this because I said I loved you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she says, but honestly, that could be why. _Isn’t that pathetic?_

“Because I do, Bev, and not just the idea of you. Not just what I think you are. Every hour, every minute, there’s something new to know and admire about you.”

“That’s not true,” she says, her voice small.

“It is, and I want to learn it all.” She doesn’t say anything, trying to focus on stopping the tears. “Complete honesty. Do you not want this?” he asks.

“That’s not it, of course I want this, of course I want you,” she says, leaning into the hand he’s stroking down her back.

“Do you feel like you don’t deserve being treated like this?” he asks.

“Yes,” she admits. “I’m waiting for the catch. There’s gotta be a catch somewhere.”

“The catch is that I’m really bad at remembering to do the dishes.” She laughs. “I have shitty taste in music. I work too much.” He kisses her eyelids, licking away some of the salty tears. “If I eat a Snickers bar I feel guilty for days.”

“You’re too good for me, I’m gonna walk all over you,” she says. “I’m going to ruin you. Somehow I’m going to ruin everything.”

“You will not.”

“I ruined our first time.”

“You haven’t ruined anything. This is ideal for me, you know how much I love talking about feelings.” She gasps out a laugh. “You’re a person who leaves things better than you found them. You haven’t ruined a thing in your life that didn’t deserve to be torn down. That’s not destruction. That’s renovation, that’s improvement, restoration, starting something new. OK?”

“OK.”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, wiping away the last of her tears.

He literally had his dick in her not five minutes ago, he’s still covered in her fluids, and he’s asking if he can kiss her. He’s too good for her. Somehow she tricked him, and she’s getting away with a crime.

“Please,” she says, and he does. He’s gentle, so, so gentle. “I’m sorry for crying.”

“Don’t be. It feels good to get it out, doesn’t it?”

He’s right. She does feel better. “Can we finish?”

“Only if you want to. I’m fine with just cuddling, or just going to sleep, or whatever you need.”

“I want to keep going.” She lies on her back, and he carefully stretches out over her, his cock still hard. He laces his fingers through hers and kisses her deeply. They go slowly, him rocking into her as if he’s got all the time in the world. He says her name when he comes, and she holds his head to her chest, running her fingers through her hair and her other hand down his body, while he recovers.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“I feel just right,” she says.

“Good.” He pulls out from her, and disposes of the condom. He wipes her gently with a tissue from the bedside table, cleaning up enough that they can sleep comfortably. He gets back in bed with her. She chooses the opposite side she normally sleeps on, Tom’s side, determined to make everything different this time around.

“Big spoon or little spoon?” she asks.

“If I said I wanted to be little spoon would you laugh?”

“No.”

“Could you hold me, then?”

And it turns out, it’s just what she needs, to hold rather than be held. To protect, rather than be protected.

For the first time in a long, long time, she doesn’t have any nightmares.


	4. Goodbye for Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get out of here.

Ben Hanscom wakes at 5:56pm to the sound of Beverly Marsh talking to a divorce lawyer. While he’d been sleeping, she’d been running her fingers through his hair. She smiles down at him.

“It’ll be messy, but after the night I had, nothing scares me.” A pause as the lawyer says something. “If he refuses to sign for them tell him there are criminal charges for domestic violence waiting for him. I can get ugly too.” Another pause. “No, I’m going to be out of the country for the time being. Paris. With an old friend.” She looks down at Ben. “For how long?” she asks him directly. He shrugs. “We’ll see,” she says into the phone. He sits up next to her as she wraps it up, trying to stretch and yawn quietly so as not to disturb her call.

“Good morning,” he says when she hangs up.

“Good morning,” she says, kissing him softly.

“What month is it?” he asks groggily.

“Time isn’t real,” she replies. “Especially not here.” She’s right about that. But he feels hungry enough to eat his own weight in cornbread and brisket, so some time must have passed. He checks his watch, one of the analog ones that can display multiple time zones—he’d thought this was a fine gift for himself when his first major building went up in London, and now here he was with major buildings in three additional time zones and a watch with four faces. He and Bev have slept a good seven hours. His muscles are stiff from the fight with Pennywise.

“Mike and Bill wanted to know if we want to go to dinner with them,” she says, finger-combing her hair.

“Of course,” Ben says, reaching up to see if her hair is as soft as he remembers. It is. Redder, though.

“That’s what I said. He thought we might want some privacy.”

“I want privacy _after_ dinner,” he says, dropping a kiss onto her bare shoulder.

“Exactly.”

“What about Richie and Eddie?”

“Haven’t heard back from them yet, but they better eat with us. Who knows when we’ll all be together again?”

Ben agrees, but he’s not gonna drag a man out of bed with his childhood sweetheart for a forced group hangout. The lovesick teenager in him won’t allow it out of solidarity.

“They’re cute together,” Ben says. He hadn’t suspected anything romantic between them as kids, but he was too distracted by the possibility of Bev and Bill getting together whenever he wasn’t thinking of the clown to really notice much of anything in those days. But looking back, it makes sense.

“I’m already mentally designing their wedding tuxes,” Bev says.

“Don’t get too ahead of them,” Ben says.

“Damn the torpedoes,” Bev replies, smiling. “Like it’s even possible to get ahead of them. They’re already going to live together.”

“Mike will be there too,” Ben points out, stretching his arms up to the ceiling, standing on his tippytoes. He can nearly reach the blades of the ceiling fan. “And Bill’s already out in LA. When I was a kid I wanted to buy an apartment building that all of us could live in together. That was the dream.”

“You could easily make that happen now,” Bev says.

“Nah,” Ben says. “It wouldn’t be the same without Stan.”

She nods sadly. Ben remembers what she’d said, that she’d seen Stanley die. She’d seen all of them die. He wonders what fate had in store for him. Maybe he’ll ask someday. If she ever brings it up first.

“Do you want to shower first?”

“I want to smell like you a little longer,” she says, and it hits Ben in some primitive part of his brain like a flaming arrow; he needs to protect her, hold her and never let go, die with her and their children surrounding his deathbed fifty years from now. _Christ, she’s perfect. I want to marry her._

_Slow down, Ben._

“Do you have a favorite hotel in Paris? I booked us at one in Montmartre I like, but we can go wherever you prefer.”

“It doesn’t really matter to me,” she says. “A hotel is a hotel is a hotel.”

 _Does she really not care, or is she just saying that because she thinks it’s what I want to hear? Did she used to agree to whatever her husband wanted?_ The thought makes him sad.

A knock at the door.

“Are you guys getting ready for dinner?” Richie’s voice asks.

“Give us about half an hour,” Bev says, answering the door and letting him inside. His hair is a wild tangle of curls and snarls, his five o’clock shadow already dark. “We’re still groggy from our nap.”

“I’ll put on some coffee,” Ben says, clearing the sleep from his throat.

“Yes please,” Richie says. “I was gonna make a pot and then Eddie refused to help me drink it because caffeine after noon means he can’t fall asleep. Anything stronger than a hot chocolate and he’s wired, apparently.”

“That’s so…elderly,” Bev says.

“I know, isn’t it cute?” Richie beams. Bev was right: it’d be impossible to get further ahead of them.

“I’m gonna shower,” Ben says.

“Make it quick. We’ve got to get through dinner and then check out. Our flight takes off in 12 hours so Eddie wanted to leave for the airport soon.”

Ben smiles at the fondness in Richie’s voice and gives Bev a parting kiss on the forehead. While showering, he makes plans for what to do when they reach Paris, and how he’s going to integrate Bev into his post-Derry life. The scar on his palm is gone, but the jagged H that Bowers carved into his stomach is still there, as are his old stretch marks, which he is still self-conscious about. All of the crunches and burpees in the world aren’t going to get rid of the fat-kid fear he has of ridicule and humiliation, and of losing control and stuffing himself to the brim until he feels that unique mix of relief and shame that follows a binge. He’d have to be careful tonight, not get too carried away like he had at the Chinese restaurant. And Paris, god, he’d have to watch himself there. All those patisseries and boulangeries. So much temptation. 

Richie’s gone by the time he’s finished cleaning up. Bev’s got a cup of coffee waiting for him. She returns his kiss to the forehead before heading into the bathroom. He hopes there’s enough warm water for her. The plumbing in this building is awful. He’d never accept something so shabby in one of his own properties.

Ben has always been captivated by the feminine rituals of getting dressed up: putting in earrings, the way women stretch their faces out to put on mascara, bending over and flipping their hair while blow-drying it so it’ll have more volume. He watches with pleasure as Bev does this. That hair of hers. January embers. Sipping his coffee while she goes through her grooming routine, Ben has never felt this peaceful.

The restaurant is a new one, some Tex-Mex joint. Their food is middling, but Ben’s never had a better dinner. They’re all so _relieved._ It’s similar to how he felt after finishing grad school with a job already secured, but without the fear of the future. The only thing he’s got to worry about is Bev’s husband, but they faced a death clown and lived to be together, some random _man_ isn’t going to tear them apart now. The only thing that can do that is Ben’s many and varied flaws, he thinks to himself, then shakes his head as if to physically throw off such negative thoughts. The self-help books he devours have taught him the power of positivity, manifesting success through visualizing happy outcomes and similar bullshit.

Mike and Bill had driven by the library to investigate the damage. “Everything’s gone,” Mike reports. “All the files I collected, scrapbooks I made—“ (Richie snorts) “--that old film reel that It appeared in and scared the shit out of us that summer, it’s all destroyed. As is the rest of my property, everything I owned. Either water and smoke damage or burned and smashed.”

“Even all the library books?” Ben asks, distressed. He’d spent so much time in that library as a kid. He remembered it better than he remembered his own childhood house.

“Most of them are OK. The children’s section is gone.”

“Of course it is,” Bill says flatly. “Why should anything good remain for the kids in this town?”

“Well, you get a fresh start,” Ben says.

“We’ll look out for you,” Bev says, “until you get back on your feet.” The other Losers add their own messages of agreement and support. Mike smiles shyly down at the table, evidently not used to being on the receiving end of generosity and concern. The poor guy, having to live with the burden of the collective trauma acting as the conscience of the town, keeping the Losers together through sheer force of the will to remember, to pay tribute to the lives lost. Not just a librarian, but a detective, a reporter, a living memorial and lighthouse keeper. A surge of gratitude and love pulses through Ben, and he thinks the other Losers feel it too.

Ben doesn’t find out until later that Mike had also taken Bill to Georgie’s grave. He’d kept it well tended all those years. He finds out the next day that Richie had carved his and Eddie’s initials into the Kissing Bridge back in 1989, adding a nice memory to a place that held terror and a tiny bit of pride (for fighting back for the first time in his life) for him. They took a separate car to dinner at Richie’s insistence, because he wanted to show it to Eddie on the way back to the hotel, it turns out. The rest of the evening passes by too quickly, between driving back to the Town House and repacking and lounging around each Bill’s room, chatting quietly, soaking in each others’ presences until they have to part.

“What if we forget again?” Ben says, looking pensively into his styrofoam cup of wine during a lull in the conversation. “What if we leave Derry and I find this gorgeous redhead in the seat next to me on the plane and I have no idea who she is?” he asks, squeezing Bev around the waist.

“In that case I’d introduce myself,” Bev says. “’Hiya, handsome, headed my way?’” He buries his face in her hair to hide his pleased blush. 

“I think as long as we’re together, we’ll always remember. It wasn’t just leaving Derry that took away the memories,” Mike says. “It was that you all left on your own.”

“I’m not sure I want to remember all of it,” Eddie admits, gesturing to his torn cheek.

"I don't think it goes away," Bill says. "The fear." 

"It doesn't," Bev and Eddie say at the same time. Richie nods. 

"It rewires your brain chemistry," Mike says. 

Ben wants to keep all of it. Ignorance is worse than even the most painful knowledge. He’s always believed that.

Soon it’s time to gather up their luggage and their rental cars and deal with the business of travelling. Bangor International Airport is small, so their terminals are near each other, so they go through security as a group and soak up the last minutes of their time together. Bill goes to the airport bookstore, takes out a Sharpie, and signs all of his books while Richie and Eddie debate which over-priced snacks to buy. Ben and Bev browse hand-in-hand, debating on whether he’ll actually read anything on the 8-hour-flight or if he’ll just watch a movie and sleep. (He’s a big reader, but somehow on planes he can never concentrate. It’s the damnedest thing.) 

Richie, as the most recognizable of the group, turns a few heads, especially with the openness with which he and Eddie cuddle up against each other, and some teen buys one of the books Bill’s just autographed and asks him to personalize it. He’s sure they’ll end up on the internet soon, a minor mystery as to how a famous architect, fashion designer, stand-up comedian, and horror author, plus two random dudes, ended up at some Maine airport, of all places, kissing each other on the cheek and hugging ferociously when they part. His publicist is certainly going to have some questions. But that’s something to deal with later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished this. I hope you're enjoying having survived the hellscape that was 2020, and that you and yours are safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only variation on the ending I haven't tried yet, Eddie kissing Richie to wake him up. And then I added a bunch more other stuff. When will this hyperfixation with the clown movie end? Only time can tell. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well and that you're not still in fucking quarantine like us Americans are. Give your pets some kisses for me. 
> 
> \--Gal


End file.
